


The Kingdom of Marionette

by Mortsleia



Category: Mortsleia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortsleia/pseuds/Mortsleia
Summary: You are a breath of the great silence,a drop in the vast ocean,a secret in the wonder of deathly white.AU Post-Happy Ending.
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

The sun touches your cheek and you are awakened by its gentle sweep. It has accompanied you in your sleep, becoming heaven’s blanket for you. You wish to rise from your slumber but your body refuses. You groan and the pangs of agony seize indomitably in you. It lulls you back to rest; _What is there to rush, what is there to need?_ Maybe, you would hold its hand if only the sun has not become the torch and light the looming tragedy in front of you. 

You abruptly stand on your feet. You remember; You were boarding a ship, a storm passed, and your memories fail you with plead and unanswered prayers. The remnants of the ship, the broken glasses, the fallen sail around you has become your only companion, and you swallow your voice. 

You walk around and there are no signs of passengers to be seen. Not even their corpse, not even a clue, not even your friends following your great journey. You are alone with your soul. 

_Where am I?_ Your mind has begun to spin its tale. You’re lost. You have nothing, not your belonging, not your friend, not a way to call for help. Nothing. So you walk, and walk, and walk. 

Why do you keep walking? You don’t know. Anyone would wish to survive, to stay alive, mayhaps that’s why you continue to move, not knowing what to hope for. Mayhaps, it’s a mistake. You should have stopped. You should have accepted. You should not wish for something that doesn’t exist. _But is it wrong to dream?_ Here is the question from your heart, and this land answer to your heart. It answers by showing you a magnificent buzzling city when you raise your head from the looming shadow. It shows you the light you have been searching for. 

And you found hope. 

* * *

You make your way in by slipping between guards. You are somewhat used and not used to it. Being a traveler, there are some skills you’ve to learn whether you like it or not.

Inside, you could see a sea of people swarming, laughing, and living. This is the light you’ve been searching for, the light you’ve been dreaming for. You thought you were alone on this island without anyone. You choked back a lump of emotion. It’s weird, you think, because you are not someone who is easily moved. You continue to walk, carefully hiding in the shades, away from away from the light in fear something would’ve happened. You look around and savor the sight. The smiling face of a child inflicted on you as well. There is still hope, you whisper to your heart. Then, you realized, you can’t read the words on the building or understand what the locals are saying. 

This is a foreign land, you tell yourself. You don’t understand a single word. You have never ventured to a land you’re truly lost to. How do you survive? Doubt prickles you like dirty swamp. The thought of being a stranger shackles your feet. Will you be homeless will you starve, you wonder. No, you shouldn’t lose hope. Maybe, someone will understand you. Though you don’t even know the name of this land; the map of the whole world has yet to exist, the popular romantic story of dangerous exploring of the other side of the world, you aren’t curious enough to risk your life like a wanderer; you still hold on to the thread of hope. But you feel alienated ever so.

“―!”

You bump into someone while you are lost in your thoughts. When you look up, you see a woman in her late fifty gasps out loud, threading attention after attention, surging you with worries. You begin to question her reaction, is there a need to make a fuss? From your experience, people would normally brush you aside. You look at yourself and you ask; Is it because of your attire? The way you look? Clearly there should’ve been homeless in any city. You have a wealthy experience and you know normally, people would ignore and throw you a dirty look. But not in this city, not in this foreign land. 

They touch your shoulder and you flinch. They are hushing each other and you cast your gaze down. They talk, you don’t understand a single word. Then, you remember; could it be that you’ve been caught? You look so horrible but it’s still distinguishable that your attire is not the same as them. Will they capture you? There is a creeping anxiety caressing your neck. But isn’t this a good thing? You’ll likely be able to meet with a person in authority, unlike if you make a fuss in the front gate. They will interrogate you and you can show them the location of the shipwreck. Maybe, they would help you. At worst, you’ll be thrown to jail, but you have not offended anyone. You weigh the pros and cons, and resolve your decision. 

“Excuse me.” 

You answer in fidget, daring not to look at them because now, they will clearly know you are not from around here. Much to your expectation, silence befall to their hushing. A foreigner in the city of nowhere, that must be how you look to them. 

In your heart, you sigh. You have expected something like this would’ve happened ― It always does. Your heart braces for what to come. Maybe they will walk away after their curiosity has been answered, but only prolonged silence exists.

Huh. 

You look up; and you could see countless eyes looking, inspecting, examining as you have imagined it to be. It's all white. 

You jump out of your mind, and on your next blink, everything has returned. Those eyes are looking at each other with concern, understanding their words could not reach you. The same eyes graced by ghastly white strangers under the landscape of pure night. 

You could feel your palm sweat. Is it your anxiety speaking? Your mind offers an explanation. Clearly, you have been walking half-day without eating and drinking. Your stomach growls at the thought. Though you and them couldn’t understand each other, there has always been something universally understood. 

They laugh and you feel embarrassed. Some have left and you deduct they’re satisfied with the show. But they have returned with bread and drink, a warm sunny smile, usher you to the park near to where you are. They keep you company, and you don’t know it is because they are suspicious of you so they keep an eye on you, or they are purely curious about how you are. You want to take the food, but the sight you’ve seen before is haunted on the back of your neck. Should you eat, should you not? You feel something is wrong. You know the existence of ghosts but under daylight with a lot of people around? The demanding growl from your body made you push such irrational, childish assumptions down. Food is already in your sight, given freely to you, how could you refuse? If someone were to plan to harm you, you don’t think they would get anything out of you. So you mutter a thanks, and take a bite.

You feel satisfied after filling your hunger. You have rarely missed a meal after all. After finishing your food, you try to converse with the locals through gestures and hand gestures. Anyone would know that it’s a huge failure. There are only laughters and not a single message truly passed by. It doesn’t matter, you think. You don’t mind entertaining them in exchange for the food given to you. Though it’s not much, they are kind enough to reach you out. 

You make them smile, and you too, find joy in what you are doing. But nothing lasts forever. The sun will set and the night will come. The dusk will stroke the earth and so do your worries. Where will you be staying? You hope they would find you enjoyable enough to lend you a room. Still, not everything will unfold as you wish. You have been straying from the path you ought to walk since you open your eyes, since you have come in this land.

“―!”

Someone’s grasp your shoulder and your attention is brought elsewhere. You thought they wanted to show you something, not a man in his early 20s, black long hair, tied on the back. He is coming toward you and you could perceive he is different. There is something about him that makes you feel suppressed ― and assured. The locals greet him with a smile and respect; You bow along with them. 

“You are?”

He asks, and you are surprised. He is speaking your language, your words. You understand what he is saying. You don’t know how to name this feeling in you. 

Then you know, his name is Zacheus. 


	2. Zacheus

He introduced himself as Zacheus Hieronymos, the man who understands you in this foreign land. He explains to you; This is Mortsleia. This is Athena. The land of god, the land of peace. You are not easily deceived. You have never heard of this nation before, but everything in front of you is real. So you nod. You accept this place as Mortsleia, and the city you are in is Athena. 

He brings you to his office and offers you a cup of chocolate. You want to retort that you are not a kid, but he has laughed before you could do that. It’s as if he knows, and as if he has accepted such a response over and over again. 

“So, what brings you here, lone traveler?”

You know this question will come sooner or later. There is something about Zacheus’ appearance that thread the tale of someone commanding. So you answer truthfully without hiding. You’re travelling abroad, you wish to research a particular place, your ship caught into a storm. Zacheus listens carefully, not making a sound and you are nervous. You could feel he is judging the authenticity of your words, but you have never once spoken a lie. So you look up, he blinks then chuckles. 

“No need to worry, it happened often.”

 _Often_ , he said. You sigh a relief. Though the crowd has made you comfortable and uncomfortable in a way you could not explain, you dismissed it aside. It could just be because you are tired ― and being tired will make anyone more vigilant. 

Next, he says, “You should visit Piraeus to get a check up. Don’t worry, you can get there immediately.” 

You don’t know where Piraeus is. Is it a building? Is it a name? It seems confusion is written clearly in your face, enough for Zacheus to find it funny. So he brought out the map of this nation and explained to you. 

Here is Athena, the sword of the nation. Here is Piraeus, the shield of the nation. Here is Agros, the heart of the nation. He explained you in detail, enough to make you itch, wanting to write it down. Unfortunately, none of your belongings are safe. So you listen carefully, hoping you’ll retrain the memory long enough before you forget. But this nation ― this city is strange. Zacheus may say something like this often happens, but there is no reason for them to be this friendly to you. 

“Why are you helping someone like me?” You ask, and you clamp your mouth. You know you shouldn’t ask that question. You should’ve been grateful over the kind treatment. Still, it’s too unnatural, you think.

Zacheus smiles. “It’s out of whim,” he answers, “You see, you remind me of my people.” There is no trace of lies in his words. 

He sits, looks outside and takes a sip of his coffee. You follow his gaze. Before the dusk, you could see children and adults teaching and playing with each other. They look happy and content. The rulers of this land have done well enough. But you don’t understand. What does he mean by his people? Is Zacheus someone who knows Mortsleia’s sovereign? You’re curious, but you don’t think it's a wise idea to ask. He has been kind enough to explain a lot of things to you. Your fingers tighten on the cup. Rationally, you have no reason to ask. But you brace out the fear.

“What happened to them?”

Why do you do so? Something inside you move when you see his face; bound with thousands of unspoken words died inside him. Then, you can hear him sigh. Not the sigh of defeat, but the smiles that come along by it. “They are no longer here.”

Then he begins to tell you his story, tales you never thought you’ll be hearing; about the birth of this nation, about its culture, about the encounter he had with them, the people you are wondering of.

“There is this one kid, called himself Mare. He has weird, moss-like hair. He has quite a unique bearing, unusually calculative, different for better words. Perhaps one of those days, he could’ve burned part of the city.”

“Another with a strange hair color. Kaine, the little brother of Selena. I still remember when he introduced himself. He stood out from the rest far too much. Who would’ve thought a small child like him, would’ve more courage than anyone else? 

“His sister, Selena. She picked a fight with me at our first encounter, Can you believe it? A woman that showed no fear in her eyes at all. She would’ve become a good teacher, perhaps feared if she said.

“Diane. She is weird in many ways I could not explain. She almost always appears smiling, as if there is nothing to worry about in this world. But if anyone observed closely, they would see so many wounds on her back.”

“Badrudduja, at first, he looks like a lost child when he introduces himself. There is something about him that makes you want to pat his head, to protect him. But in the end, I feel like I failed to do so, I feel like he ended up having to shoulder a huge burden in my place. He could’ve lived a proper, happy life.”

“There is also an odd man, Gilneas. Had he appeared way before, perhaps people would have thought he was a witch and hunted him down. Instead, he wished to hunt ghosts instead. He looks like the type who would talk to himself out of nowhere and received a lot of strange looks. But he’s dedicated to his work, and his responsibility.”

“This person is the most peculiar. They surprised me with their existence; They are a dragon. We have only talked briefly with each other but they are kind ― in no way are they weak, but kindness strives from being a strong existence. Sometimes, they look lonely, as if longing for something. I wish they found what they have been looking for.”

“Seiryoku, when he arrived here, he had a quiet demeanor, but the kind that could easily execute what he wished, the kind that was willing to walk in the path of thorn for the sake of what they believed.”

“There is another person tagging along with him, Aliceson. They looked cheerful, like a clear sunny sky and it surprised me. You should know, although you could see smiles all around the city of Athena, not everyone can display for a long time after facing a lot of things.”

“Dwight, this man has the air of nobility. He is that soldier you’ll find hard to approach but may have a surprisingly soft side. A man with responsibility but will still remember his reason to fight. I wish I could get the chance to cross swords with him.” 

“But there are few that choose to remain in Athena,” he continues. “Such as Nikolai. He is a reliable guy and you could feel he is carrying many responsibilities ― not only what’s told to him. You get the air that he had fought with something terrible, something that we don’t know.” 

“There is Haebin. At first, I was worried whether he’ll be able to settle here. I know, he is a grown up adult so I shouldn’t worry too much. But you couldn’t help but to worry. But it seems like he and Nikolai get along well. We didn’t get a chance to talk, maybe I should bump on him later and ask for a spare.”

You thought, this man must have loved this nation so much, the same way as he loved his people, even though he never elaborated what happened in the end, but he speaks fondly of them. 

“I hope all of them are doing well,” he speaks at the end. “I miss them greatly.”

Your heart is no longer beating wild. From his story, you could tell that he has been dying to tell all of this to someone. A strange way to name your feelings. 

“How long has it been since you last saw them?” 

You are comfortable, comfortable enough to ask. Life is, but a series of meeting and parting. In each place you visit, you'll meet new people and you'll part with them. Still, you hope, Zacheus is still in touch with them. Even a stranger could see how he treasured them. 

Zacheus doesn't answer. He must have a hard time counting the approximate times through so many people. You sip in your drink, allowing the gentle silence to arise. You empty your cup and there is still no answer. You look at him, and he smiles. 

There is something bizarre gazing in the mirror of his eyes. Something eternally beautiful without the strangeness proportion of a man, but enough to offer you for a minute the glimpse of terror in where you quiver. It's the extinguishment of a living flame and his realization of it. His skin paled in white. He smiles as if he has serenely died. 

“You should visit Phaulos,” he answers. “He can speak your language too, so you don’t need to worry.”

His words snap your attention and you don't have time to properly look at him. Zacheus has risen on his feet and stands in front of the door, guiding you elsewhere. Has his complexion been that white before? You could only see his back but it left you unsettled. 

The bravery you once had scattered into nothing. You realized, you are still a stranger and you shouldn't probe too deeply. 

“You should get out of here soon.” He said, and that’s the last thing you heard from him before you depart.


	3. Phaulos

He introduced himself as Phaulos Dionysius, a man who abides and supports the nation's advancement. He welcomes you without prejudice and checks up on you. Through your talk with him, he explains to you; This is Mortsleia. This is Piraeus. The land of god, the land of peace. He is another man who can understand you. 

“Alright, it looks like you’re all healthy and sturdy.”

He pats your shoulder and leads you to his office. He offers you a cup of tea, and you are grateful that he doesn’t treat you like a child. 

“So, what will you do next?”

Phaulos asks. His attention is not on you, unlike Zacheus, it’s on the document on his desk. There is your portrait between the stack of paper, taken as soon as you arrived here and you assumed it’s part of the procedure for stranded travelers. 

“I would like to go home.”

You answer him truthfully. Your family, your companion might be waiting back home and you don’t want to make them worry. 

“That can be arranged.” He signed his name at the bottom of the document, then he shows it to you. “You’ll need to go to the capital, Agros, only then can you travel out from this nation.”

You hold the document dearly. You have been worried since you opened your eyes. How will you get back home? How will you survive? You haven’t expected that the people here would’ve been this friendly. You thank him with a bow and wide smile. There is still time before your departure, so you ask, “Do you help me because I resemble your people too?” out of curiosity. You have certainly become conceited since your meeting with Zacheus, and you truly are, even though Zacheus’ words left unsettling fright stretched in your heart. But you’ll get out of here soon, you remind yourself. 

Phaulos looks at you surprised, as though he has witnessed something strange, then bursting into a laugh. “Why would I do something troublesome like that?”, he asks and you feel embarrassed. 

“Did he really not tell you anything?”, you want to refute because Zacheus has told you a lot of things. “He is my half-brother, someone who hates me,” Phaulos has explained before you could say anything, “My beloved younger brother rarely makes a request to me. How could I refuse?”

Then he explained and you realized that Zacheus is not a man any commoner should be able to meet easily. Neither is the man in front of you, Phaulos. Mortsleia, he tells you, is governed by three figures. Zacheus and Phaulos are two of the three figures. 

You feel your heart drop. You have not expected to meet the people who lead the nation and personally tend you. What are the odds, you ask yourself. Not to say, how conceited you are to ask a question to Zacheus, to Phaulos before. 

“Though in a way,” he said, “You remind me of my paladins that have resigned.”

Paladin. Such strange words to be used. Zacheus refers to them as his people and this man refers to them as his paladin. 

You feel nervous. What if Phaulos changed his mind because of your question? He’s still smiling, and you don't feel any animosity from it, although you have to admit, you don't like the smile. There is no tension in between you and him. So you decided to ask, to break some ice, to put on whimsical painstakingly small talk until time calls you, “What are they like?”.

“Why should I tell you?”, Phaulos replies with a question of his own. That moment you realize, that you don’t like this guy. Something about him makes you want to strangle his neck. Phaulos laughed, as though he could read your thoughts. By now, you are in no mood to listen to his story and more concerned for your safety. You don’t expect he would tell you his tales, like Zacheus, but then, he does. 

“When they came here, they were still adorable, like a village kid coming to a big city,” he introduced them with a tender voice. 

“I remember Ephaedra. There were less even people that I could actually call as close friends. I thought he is the same as me, I thought he would understand my ideology the most, but in the end, we clashed because of it. I always enjoyed sharing story-telling with him, especially the moment he went uncharacteristically told me about his cherished one, Edgar. Edgar has also worked as one of my Paladin.”

“Now, this child named Edgar, we have encountered a few times even so we've never had time to interact face to face. I was worried for him first, but he was doing well, even until the end of his work as Paladin, he still did his job properly.”

“Another child who was quiet and diligent in his work, Evangelos. He holds his brother dearly and prioritizes him above everything else. He is remarkable. It reminded me of my old time.”

“His brother, Eleftherios, on his first impression, might have been intimidating. But he was a funny and reliable guy. He worked really hard and cared for Evangelos.”

“Julius was another shy child who spoke what's on his mind. But he was really intelligent and strived for the best. Sometimes, I wonder what he would look like under those masks.”

“Roshanara, or Ara for short since I've been constantly calling her that way. I remembered she was a diligent priest. Her sense of justice, carring, and wariness are something I'm surprised but also grateful for. She was also one of the people I can trust fully and I could be an equal. Apart from formality, she was my close friend who got mad if I somehow overworked myself.”

“Minjun, a late newcomer, someone who is close with Eunsoo. He is someone who does his work properly, his appearance is quite uptight. I don't know why he decided to leave without Eunsoo, perhaps they have reason but I still wished the best for them.”

“A lass named Macha. She is a strong woman, though she might come off as a rebellious and annoying kid instead. But I still wish she is doing fine even afterward. I kind of worried, since we parted because I had disappointed her at some point. I wish she forgives me for the time being though, hahaha.”

“Of course, not everyone left Paladin, like Eunsoo that I have told you,” Phaulos pours you another cup of tea. By now, the two of you have seated in front of each other.

“Eunsoo has chosen to remain here. He is a child with steel resolution. He has a bright smile, carrying out each work that is given to him, that sometimes I feel apologetic for him.”

“There is also a guy I don't understand. He went by the name Eden. He was loyal, but a loner. He can come off as sinister, though he is one of the few that remain here, in Piraeus.”

“There is another person who is often seen with Roshanara, Anastasia, she is still working here. She is an adorable child. Loyal to the bone, and cheerful no matter what kind of mission that is given to her. We often get to see sightseeing flowers together, and I enjoy that scenery the most. Maybe I should invite her for lunch sometime.”

“Excelsis, he likely has busy himself with work right now. He looks trustable, but has the air of a rebel like Macha. A man of his own objective.”

“I didn’t manage to repay for everything they did,” he sighs in regret, “But I wish all of them are doing well.”

Though your first impression toward Phaulos had been destroyed by the man himself, you still listen to his story. From someone who appears so uptight, his tales are full of longing, joy and delight. 

“Maybe you would want to send them a letter,” or visit them. You think, these people would have been happy to receive a letter from Phaulos. Though he may be an irritable guy, still you don’t think someone who remembered so many names would be a bad guy. 

“Maybe I should,” he laughs at your suggestion. You don’t know whether he’ll take it seriously or not, but that’s not your problem. 

There has been something in your mind since Phaulos told you that Zacheus is his half-brother, so you question, “The person who governed Agros... Are they also your brother?” You want to take mental notes and avoid embarrassing yourself like what you did a while ago.

The air between you and him has been good. If only Phaulos would not be so contentious, maybe you would have like him easily. “It is,” he nods, “He’s my proud older brother, Heudas Nikolaus.” It seems like he takes great pride in both his family and the people who have been working under him. 

“He continued to protect Mortsleia even until the end.” You wonder what kind of person Heudas Nikolaus is, what kind of older brother subjected to such a quarrelsome younger siblings. If it’s you, you might have run out of patience.

As your thoughts wonder, Phaulos’s lips twitch. His expression changed. Perhaps realizing that he has gone overboard. After all, he gives off the same vibes as your professor back in college. 

You smile, wanting to tease him over this. Phaulos has shown you an unexpected side of him, so you are satisfied and forgive him. But you don’t expect tears to flow from his eyes, dispelling all the joy and happiness spoken before. 

“Sorry,” he said and pry his glass off. “There’s something wrong with me right now.” 

You’re bewildered. You have always felt awkward when confronted with someone crying. It’s become more confusing when it happens out of nowhere. You couldn’t even fathom the reason. Phaulos have been telling you his happy tales; nothing more than that. 

It lasted briefly, if not momentarily. He looks at you sadly, there is a light shade of red from the corner of his eyes. 

“You should go to Agros soon,” he told you. “You should get out of here soon.” This time, you couldn’t shake the discomfort off from your chest.


	4. Kyros

He introduced himself as Kyros Romanos and you thought, _who are you?_ He is not Heudas Nikolaus, the figure Phaulos has previously told you. Someone entirely different sitting on the throne and you could feel immense pressure unlike before. It’s nothing compared to Zacheus and Phaulos. You could feel he has his hand around your neck and you don’t like this at all. A golden soul stranger to earth. 

You bow, following the people who have guided you. You have never liked the manner of nobles, but those thoughts disappear before this man. 

“I heard there is a stranded traveller,” he opened his mouth, and your heart beat wildly. 

“Do not worry, for I will not do anything.” But it feels like he'll cut your head off, you bitterly swallowed the remark. You could talk to Zacheus, you could tease Phaulos, but you don't think you could have a proper conversation with this man. 

“Speak,” he utters. “What’s your reason to come here?”

Perhaps, if you refused to tell, he might have cut your tongue. A nation governed by tyranny exists, but you don't think Mortsleia is one of the nations. So you tell your tales again. You account each one of them to its very details instinctively, the same way you have told Zacheus. 

“My Lord, I apologize for having trouble you and the other Lords, but I wish for nothing more than to return home,” you conclude your journey with an apology, an apology where you imposed no wrong. There is something about Kyros that makes you want to kneel, to abide with his words, even though you wish not. 

“Raise,” he said, and you follow his law.

“A ship will be docked in the next few days. You’ll stay here for the time being,” he explains, “Ergalisus will help you in preparing your journey back home.” You assumed, it’s the name of the person who has guided you here from when the man nods, “As you command.”

And you are dismissed just like that, without opposition. Something is odd, you feel, or perhaps it’s because you have expected to meet trouble when you see this man, Kyros. 

You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eyes as Ergalisus leads you out. The burning sun looks at you, and you quickly look away. You heard him chuckles and cold runs through your spine. 

“Speak, child,” he said. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

What is it that you want to ask? You don’t know. You don’t think you have one. Your thoughts are halted before him. You wish, this man would be irritable, the way Phaulos is, that way you wouldn't be nervous like this. But he is calm, like blue waves surging storms to come. But if there is a question to ask this man seated on the King's throne, your mind whispers, then there would only be a single one. 

“My Lord,” your voice is full of uncertainty. Maybe, you should have not asked. Maybe, you should have stopped. Like when you survive from the shipwreck. “May I inquire who Heudas Nikolaus is?” It’s the name of a man Phaulos said to be the one governing Agros. 

“Would you like to know?”, he doesn’t answer you and you feel like you shouldn’t have asked further more. You feel like you shouldn’t know the answer. You feel like you’re treading somewhere dangerous. But what’s so dangerous from that single question? 

“Yes, if you allowed me to know.”

He smiles and replies, “He is my first beloved child,” simply as it is. 

_So you are their father.._ You thought. Now, everything makes sense. You can see the similarity shared between him, between Zacheus and between Phaulos. 

“Would you like to meet him?” 

Why would you like to meet the first child of this nation? You are a commoner, not a noble fitting to meet someone wield a high status. They are the stars not allowed to touch.

“If time allowed us too,” but you wouldn’t dare to refuse Kyros bluntly. It would be rude, considering how much help this nation, Zacheus, Phaulos ― Kyros have been giving to you. 

“Do not worry,” he answers, “Since you have met him.”

At first, you thought you had heard it wrong. But his voice echoes in your mind as you see his smiles. You don't remember meeting Heudas. You have only known his name after Phaulos told you so. Is he one of the people that has accompanied you before Zacheus arrived? That would have made sense. But would someone with such status be able to blend perfectly with the commoner? It should have left an impression, you thought. The people with authority would not have a weak presence. 

“I apologize, My Lord,” you do not hide your puzzlement. “But I believe, I have never seen Lord Heudas before.” 

“Do not worry,” he assures you like a little child of his own, but you don't feel anger or fear. Instead, a sense of isolation and detachment are assaulting you. “You’ll meet him again soon.”

You want to ask, what do you mean by that? Your mind explored through memories after memories, seeking for answers and truth. But Kyros smiles. His lips faintly curve and delight is running in his eyes. You could feel the ghastly touch on your neck, coiling words back to your throat. 

“Because he is _everywhere_.”

The ice and the blue that was all around, come into your veins.


	5. Lord of Agros

We woke up in a frozen and hard embrace of the ice-cold reality. Or not. Or maybe it wasn’t the correct way to phrase it, and neither it was the best way to start the curtain under this title. It has been long since we last had a chance to narrate a tale for another singularity. A second run, then.

We _descended_ , from the heavenly throne that was nothing but lent out to our name, into the underworld, where our bones rooted and our marrows are lain, along with the rest of our dried out blood. Flowers of funeral and mourning that grew on our skin; little kisses from the dead that lost their way around our embrace. We descended from the nightly observatorium, and there was no need to adjust to the darkness simmering around a beloved figure standing beside our slumber.

“Do you still feel unwell?”

It asked, and we have yet to finished reeling back our life, and its voice sounded far too much like a perfected symphony, fabricated as the moon on the ocean waves thrives. Its hand just above of our face looked too much like something that is passing judgement to the mistakes of mortality. Although, the mistake didn’t lie within our breath, and instead in our bones, in the marrow we inherited from so many lost lives.

… Where ever did we find out such things, again?

We met with the hand above us before it reached our own, seeking warmth that had always been scarce. Zacheus Hieronymos, our dear brother, my dear brother. It was irony that allowed him to be stronger than we are, and the little affection found within our selfishness that had him helped us up the sheets.

Although dizzy still and our voice cracked still, and although our answer never mattered and there isn’t a single ear who would listen to us, still we speak. “I will manage.”

We took stand on the cold floor, illuminated by whatever light is shining through from the other side. This castle is surely not bright enough for our preferences, and although all the loving voices told us that we deserve so much more, there is always one that tell us otherwise. Who was it again? There is too much toll for us to be expected to remember everything.

“Going out now?” Zacheus took our hand in his, enough to gather the rest of our awareness with the idle question. The cold fingers trace their way around the seams of my clothes, putting everything that nightmare-laden slumber messed with back where they are supposed to be. “Don’t push yourself too much.”

Ah, Zacheus is so very kind, so pure and just, bright and divine. If only we could have even a little of that righteousness, there wouldn’t be so much flowers that bloomed from underworld that adorned our path, and there wouldn’t be so little light in the space we dwell—in rue of reflecting the universe’s corners, the endless creations and lives, and most of all, the lonesomeness and solitude within beauty so vast. But we said nothing, and he took us in his arms before we even said anything.

We wanted this—this warmth, this love, and this reassurance of not being abandoned in the eye of destruction. And he would always hear those wishes before we even noticed our own greed and desires.

The sun took the deepest part of our heart, and exposed them under the summer rays and spring breeze, and kissed them this time not goodbye but a promise to stay forever.

* * *

Zacheus walked without halt even along the endless night that resided in our residence. A hollow without stars, a blank canvas that guarantees our reign as the only creator it rightfully acknowledge. And our brother, the light that guides us in the borderless labyrinth, alike an olden spirit that would bestow three of your desires with payment one wouldn’t understand—we also only had three wishes to make, and his persistence to be by our side proved the promise fulfilled.

Our steps, coupled with another pair that walked in front of us, created cracks on the illuminated ground. His steps, lightening up the rest of our view, of ghosts that walked on the other side of the same earth we live in. The fragile border of life and death, reality and dream, wavering on the echoes of our error. His steps, our steps, the world’s collapse.

We trailed the labyrinthine path of the underworld’s castle, to the biggest hall we had in this space, the abandoned ballroom that left nothing of gold and glory and only ruins of our once greatness. We ignored the slither and bite that dug into our bones, and the pain that subsided when another voice smoother than our own called out.

“Brother Heudas.”

He was standing by the dim and rusted throne, the last thing that connected us to the heavenly domain living just beneath where we walked. He was standing, like waiting for us to arrive, like knowing we will come, and although we know he would be there waiting, there is just a little of fear in his presence.

Because Phaulos Dionysus, he is always somewhere he can see us. He is always somewhere he can observe, something always at the tip of his tongue, some words always almost said, but never spoken to our face.

It made us want to apologize for so many things we had done, and even more so for the things we never did for him.

“Phaulos.” We called a familiar name that tasted sour in our mouth. The taste of a wrecked past and a hope for the future, or perhaps the lack of it, or perhaps the despair that lingered despite his abundance of hope.

There are critters by his feet, slithering from the stiff figure to our legs, climbing up our spine before they sunk their fangs into our blood. It wasn’t refreshing, but it was enliving, and it gave us more breath than what we had left in our lungs. The shadow remaining from the snakes dispersed into the dark surrounding, merging into what was part of ourselves.

A little recollection from the blessed constellation tugged at our mind, and we tried to ask despite the clear answer we already knew. “Are you alright?”

His smile had never changed, and we remembered him as the calm star that watched over every injustice the world had to offer. His smile had never changed, and we loved him all the same. His smile never changed, and his words are still frozen cold. “What ever could you be referring to?”

What ever could we be referring to? It wasn’t something that we did to him, but the weight of our guilt never left our side, even with his hand in ours threading between the fragments of our crime.

The knowledge that we are responsible for the lives that walked on this land, and that we shoulder every single one of their grief, their happiness, their suffering and joy. We are responsible for the frigid skin that was cold when our hand met it by the fingertips. We are responsible for his anguish, for his painful nostalgia that maybe he didn’t understand completely—but we did, because we were the ones that ripped those understanding out of his heart. We understand the things he didn’t, everything under the night sky that their minuscule vision would not be able to perceive.

We are responsible for every lives in this land. We are responsible the dried trail of tears visible under our dear brother’s eyes.

Phaulos Dionysus, our dearest, the blooms on our fingers might have grazed his skin when we moved to wipe his eyes; if he was able to feel it at all. Would he live better if he can taste pain on his nerves? Would he live better if he can see more, _know more_?

Ignorance is bliss, the only kind we were ever able to give him.

“I’m sorry.”

Phaulos’s smile felt like reassurance too mild, like an apology was deflected on crystalized heart and he could not take the sentiments as something whole and genuine. “Are you seeing that traveler? Should I come too?”

Maybe it wasn’t genuine, and maybe it’s what we deserved, to begin with. We have past since forgotten how it felt to be sincere, and it would be fair if the world throw the same amount of fakery down our throat. Fake as it is, our love wouldn’t subside on that kind of trivial troubles.

“It’s alright, father is there too.” We reached both of our hands to the two beloved standing before us, and landed atop the hair we have always wanted to ruffle between our fingers, letting them see how much affection we can give just from the palm of our hands.

“You two should go back. It’s late.”

* * *

A black wing makes a deep gash high in the sky's blue dome — look at it, you'll see shadow break open, scattered with inner might of indomitableness. On the stars, ashes of the moon. On the flowers, blood of still wet dew. On the throne, seated a man matches the emptiness of the sky grovel from broken shards. Beneath, kneel the forgotten taste of loss at the end of night, Kyros Romanos, our father.

“Please raise your head, father.”

Our father is a great man. The land we called our home, our nation, was unified by him. But the begonia petals have wither. The mourn for Spring has become silence. The wine drinkers are gone. The wind is still, and so is our heart that carried still tales of past glory and reverence toward what we used to look up to.

“How are you?”

We always feel strange — almost unearthly, when we hear our voice. We’ll never get used to being alive, not anymore. The question melted into the crumbling walls laden with fragments of the night sky, and eaten away by the same hollow that rested in our heart. Ask no more as no answer will be given. We have been living here years after years, and time has abandoned us. So let us not forget for a moment. Let us carry the pangs of this sorrow in our dream and in our wakeful hours. 

“You should meet that traveler soon. Otherwise, it’ll be too late.”

But our father, great he is, even now, will always forget himself. Even when night blood seeps into him through the accident he has inflicted and chooses in advance what to kill. Even when his body went cold and left us. Sometimes, we want to ask, do you love this nation more than us? We know he’ll look at us and smile; He is like the sun. The sun doesn't wait, it looks and keeps going, and we are stuck to the earth that keeps on being left behind. 

“I’ll go soon.”

The serpent of fate coils around us. It doesn't comfort, it only covers up if we have the decency to stay in line; and we find comfort in its shameless honesty. Its head strokes our cheek and we return to do the same. There is comfort in honesty, as there is comfort found in similarities within a world never the same.

“Father.” But even if the sun will keep going, we have become more than that. “Will you accompany me to bed tonight?” We know, we are not a child. But we feel a melancholy we couldn't have named, a longing for what we couldn't have said or understood, untouched by time. 

“I will be there.” He promised us like in the evening of our childhood, when we went to bed and lullaby washed into the cove of our room.

We sigh. We have yet to learn how to live with our grief, as if putting words together has been of help, but we smile and the snakes under the innocent flowers crawl upon his feet. He looks at us, proud and joy, delighted and happy — don’t look at us. But it’s too late. This is the path we choose. The path to struggles and suffer to conquer our solitude. 

“I will return soon.” And it eats him, the way it eats us. From our shadow, it raises to our body. There, it closes our eyes and bites our heart. Their dark shapes look like the caw of ravens, devouring the body of our loved one; but it’s an omens against the brilliant blue of the sky, of a beautiful faith that morning will come, tomorrow will resume; and this faith which is larger than any pain will surely accompany us throughout all kind of destruction.


	6. Heudas

The moon was seated in its highest crown, and it left an illuminating purple enough to alter your perception of colors across the land—not something you could see where you came from. You had been brought to a nameless establishment, although you understood more things once you set foot in it. The ruckus of a crowd familiar to each other except you, the lingering smell of alcohol in the air, and the mouth-watering waft coming from another door deeper inside; just a common tavern, the same kind you can find back home.

After meeting the three leaders, although you ruled out the one that sat on the throne of Agros as one of the supposed trio, Ergalius gave you a place to stay, abiding by Kyros Romanos’s words that you would need to stay for a few days before the sail out of this nation would be available.

You sat at a table by the corner, and someone didn’t throw a single comment when they brought you two plates of food. Their eyes all white, and their expression rigid, as if set in place by invisible wires. It would have put a shiver down your spine if you haven’t already gotten alarmingly used to the unusual feature. They put one of the dishes in front of you, and the other by the seat across of you. You wanted to ask about it, but a man you have never seen was already standing by your table, smiling at the person that brought you food, who was bowing at the arriving stranger. You didn’t see him coming.

“You’re the traveler I heard of?” He asked, before taking his seat. You didn’t take note anymore of the language he spoke, seeing that Ergalius was capable of the same thing, and you assume the nation’s officials to be fluent in languages across the sea.

“I am.” A short bump before you added to your answer, worried about accidentally disrespecting someone of higher position—again. “And you are…, Sir?”

He didn’t answer, instead staring across the huge and packed hall, searching for something and nothing at all. He looked back at you, and a smile was contrast on his ashen pale face when he spoke.

“Very lively, don’t you think? They haven’t had something amusing in years.”

An abrupt shift of pace that you didn’t think too much of, you retrace his gaze at the crowd, and answered before your eyes were even latched back on him. “It’s a good thing to be lively.”

The man laughed, its echoes blending perfectly into the hollering crowd. It was like you had met the main actor of a theatre you have unconsciously become an extra cast of. The sky itself seeming to be centered around him, and if it really was his stage you have intruded, it’s a wonder: what kind of script was at play? The man honestly looked like the Hamlet type, although a tad too cheerful for the role.

“My name is Heudas Nikolaus.”

You suddenly don’t feel like picking up the spoon from your dish anymore.

Alas, he continued speaking, gazing at something that was beyond your eyes, drilling holes across your socket with his eyes alone. He was staring like there is something to be seen, and you felt a weight on your shoulder that was unclear whether your imagination or not.

“I apologize for neglecting your visit earlier this day.” You saw him blink slowly, meant as a substitute for lowering his head in apology—which doesn’t look like something a person of his caliber should be doing. “I am rather sickly, you see, and a lord only by name.”

“I hope my father had treated you well. He can be a little unwelcoming.”

You wondered if it would be fine for you to agree with the unwelcoming bit, but that person’s heavy presence haunts you even after he was no more within vicinity, and you swallowed back the little snide you had. “I was in good hands.”

“My brothers said they ended up talking about many things with you.” He kept talking, and you kept listening, a little curious about the absentee lord that you didn’t get to meet. “But sure, you do remind me of my children as well. Or maybe, like my brothers and their enthusiasm, I just haven’t seen any new people in a while.”

“How about I ramble like my brothers did for my own old time’s sake, or would that be too boring for your side dish?” He added again, a lethargic grin with his eyes on your untouched meal you didn’t even realize had gone cold

It was like a gentle scolding, and you replied to him before you picked up your dinner. “I would like to hear about it.”

“You are too kind.” Heudas’s words sounded like a teasing. “Let’s see then, my children.”

“They are quite the trouble makers, I must say. It felt more like I was a father or tutor than a commander to them.”

“First of all, there is Istina, a noblewoman who somehow didn’t mind joining me in my cause. I trusted her greatly, and I believed she would be a great leader despite her worries about herself.”

“She has a companion, Rangga.” He paused for a short laughter. “Even a child could see the infatuation between those two. I think of him as my dear son. I wish they are still with each other, and I still hope to be able to bless them together.”

“And then, there is Elliot, a very proper child. He had been dragged to problems here and there, and I may have put quite the burden on him. Even so, he cares about his friends very much. I hope he is leading a good and honest life still.”

“My most problem child, Izzen. Very daring, not even afraid to disobey me for his own sense of what is right. It brought him a lot of pain, but knowing him, he wouldn’t have any regret about his actions. I’m sure he could have been a great person.”

“Then there’s Orin, a peculiar one. He has a little lizard companion that talked for him and I am very fond of both of them. He’s a hard worker, and has been a great help to me despite my incompetence. I wish I could still meet him.”

“Sela, a very mature one. One of the few that put doubts on me, although I hold no resentment for it. She looks like she has a lot of burden, but with the way she is, surely she can breeze through anything.”

“And Bere, I remember her talking about her goal when she first came here. I was a bit guilty that she had to fight for me, instead of chasing her dreams. It would be great if she is living those dreams now.”

“Then, Sahana. She has this air of nobility around her, and I regret that she had to suffer and be brought down so much just by being on my side. Though there is nothing that can truly topple her, and I believe she can still stand strong no matter what the world do to her.”

“There is Lev, a really unique one. I think he should live a calm and happy life with those he loved, rather than join me in the eye of conflict. He is a gentle child, and I cherished his presence in those hard times."

“And Cain, he is a little worrying, a rambunctious type. I worried that he might stir conflicts with the others, but it seemed that he still believed the same values we do, although with different methods and sentiments.”

“Elaine, she is also Cain’s companion. I must have troubled her a lot. She is a kind person, although I didn’t get to befriend her much. I hope they are thriving in where ever faraway land they have departed to.”

“And then, Alexia. She was devoted. So much that I am worried about what would become of her. In the end, I believed that if submission was the freedom she chose, then I will act my part and guide her through the world as she followed my steps.”

“Last, I have Eunsoo and Minjun. Perhaps the ones I am most guilty for. They have suffered so much for the consequences of my life-long mistake. There was nothing I can do to help them, I can only hope everything I had done was enough compensation for their hardships.”

You scarcely ate, drawn in by Heudas’s continuous exposition. He noticed the attention amidst his reminiscing, and leaned closer on the table, visibly struggling to keep up his calm countenance.

“Though of course, there are also a lot that I lost, but I am eternally grateful for the chance to ever know them in my life.”

Just as the other brothers you have met, this same topic left the man with the same solemn smile on his face. If it was something so saddening, there must be an abundance of fondness in it for them to insist on bringing it up. Although, with what happened with Phaulos, you kept from asking too much questions already. He does seem even more like the type to cry in public over sentimentals.

The food tasted bland on your tongue, and you felt the unseen weight pressing on your neck, urging to be let in. You wondered if you have grown that empathetic of this man, and let the breath you lost to leave your lungs and make space for the shared melancholy.

“I love them all very much.” Heudas’s face grow dreary, as the weight on your shoulder moved, and his eyes weren’t even looking at you anymore. “How about you become one of my children too?”

His sad smile left like a fluttering firefly, as your vision turned dark and your consciousness drowned within his words.

In a distant reality, the fateful serpent cackled at your idiocy.


	7. Epilogue

When you woke up, there was something behind you, in front of you, on you. You feel the weight of countless eyes on you, and managed to rule out the shape of people between those cold stares around you. There is Zacheus and Phaulos, and even further in the back you could even see the father of those three, his presence as heavy as you knew it.

Countless clouded eyes pressed their stare on you, all white and unalive, and the fear that kept knocking your chest screamed that it wasn’t human you are meeting eyes with. Their smile was in unison, slowly pulling their lips apart as you saw someone else by the back of your head. A pair of hands held your face still as he pulled you closer to his lap.

Heudas Nikolaus.

You wanted to speak, but there was something already slithering into your mouth. And then one more. One more. One more. You choked on things that didn’t feel realistic enough to be real.

You felt something move on your chest, and on it was a mass covered with scales, before you saw it coiling on your limbs, and realized that it was a massive snake that was resting its head on Heudas Nikolaus’s shoulders, fangs hanging so close to your eyes, about to eat your socket into hollow. You heard the same slithering sounds all around the ground you were lain on, scales scraping against crystalized soil like stone on metal.

“I’m sorry.” The lord’s fingers brushed across your eyes, forcing the lids closed. There was something in your throat. They slithered further inside, intruding your insides until the burning visceral pain turned into a dull numbness.

You couldn’t breathe, and the serpent ate your eyes whole, and it felt like you’re sinking into his hold, melting into his arms and scrambling into nothingness.

“It’s okay,” he said, the same solemn smile directed to the you that was growing colder in his embrace, “I will be here.”

It’s okay, he will be here—because you will be a part of him, as everyone else are. Because you will live within him as the fuel to his eternal fire, as everyone else did when they still had any heartbeat to give to him; to be a part of one as grand as him as the last honor in your lost life.

The fateful serpent cackled at your idiocy, and the witch that commanded it held you close as he ripped out the last of your breath.

Very lovely son of mine, wouldn’t you agree?

Good night, dear traveler. Welcome home.


End file.
